Facebook and those damn 25 things...

I'm sure most of you reading this have a Facebook account. 

And, not only do you have Facebook accounts, but I'm sure by now, most of you have been tagged in that crazy 25 Random things I don't know about you game that's been going around the past couple of weeks.  

It's so huge that even the NYtimes did an article on it yesterday!  

Here are mine:

1- I have a love/hate relationship with NYC. I love the food, shops and people. I hate the rents, subway and people.

2- I believe all stuffed animals have feelings. Even the ugly ones.

3- I think all women could use a little make-up. It's not really that big of a deal to put a little effort in.

4- I like getting deep in on the issues both personally and politically.

5- I wanted Oliver to be a girl. When we found out the baby was a boy I cried, even though in my gut I knew all along he was a boy.

6- Pat Benatar's "We Belong" always gets me going.  

Check out her video... it is SO GODDAMN HILARIOUS!

7- S'mores are my all time #1 favorite food. To prove it, we even served them at my wedding.

8- I would move to the Greek Islands in a New York second if my husband was up for it.

9- After reading #8 you should know that feta, olives, tomatoes, olive oil, bread and red wine are things I cannot live without.

10- After ordering out for 4 years, I have rediscovered I am a fabulous cook. Every night as I cook up dinner I amaze myself.  You should see the eggs I make in the morning now. 

11- I think my husband is the best person I know.

12- If I could get into Oliver's crib with him I would.

13- I think doing someone's laundry is the nicest thing anyone can do for you.

14- I will do ANYTHING for a back rub.

15- I loved summer camp and will be thankful for the cult like experience for the rest of my life.

16- I have a full, written out, blown out, financial plan so I'll know exactly what to do with the 25 million dollars I will win one day from the New York State Lottery.

17- My husband made me leave a casino once because I was getting so upset I was losing money. He said I'm never allowed to gamble again because I fundamentally don't understand the odds are against me. 

18- I love, love, love, to read. But I hate, hate, hate chick-lit.

19- Oliver doesn't look like me or Brett. I spend a lot of time wondering who it is he looks like.

20- I'm a tank top, lip gloss and moisturizer junkie. I firmly believe you can't have enough of all three.

21- I hate it when grown women smell like baby powder or wear pigtails. If you're over 18 seriously grow up.

23- You can never stop learning. The day you decide you know it all you've become a moron.

24- I am the worlds best sleeper who can cuddle up to almost anything and make it snuggly.

25- My stuffed animal dog just winked at me.

It's Greek to me...

So two years ago, Brett and I took the best vacation of our lives. We went to Athens, Mykonos and Santorini. I can't stress enough that every person should visit these places at least once in their lives. Feta cheese and olives truly don't come alive until you eat them here. 

Oh, and the wine is amazing.

Athens was undeniably awe-inspiring. I loved being a tourist here. The Parthenon and Acropolis absolutely blew my mind and I couldn't get over how young the whole concept of America was. I mean, America is seriously like a baby compared to European, Middle Eastern and African countries.

Speaking of babies, it was in Greece that we decided it was time to have one of our own. It actually came up while we were touring the museum at the Parthenon. We were walking through it, taking a break from the outside heat, and looking at all the old amazing tools those smarty pants Greeks came up with.

It was then we saw the Greek solution to potty-training. How cool/uncomfortable does that thing look! Can you imagine putting a squirmy 2 year old on that? Not to mention how cold it must get on his/her poor baby bum sitting on the marble!

But don't you just love that they came up with the idea of potty training?  

Oh, and the wine is amazing.

Give it to me better...

During my ten years of advertising agency experience I was briefed over and over on the behaviors of a certain target audience companies like Proter & Gamble and Rubbermaid refer to as "CEO of the Household."

The target is always, always, always female. She is 25-40 years old. These women love a good bargain, have big-time brand loyalty, and give new products one chance to make a first impression. If that new toilet wand fails to add anything new or valuable, they will never waste their time or money again. I feel this way about many old boyfriends.

Well, I may not be sitting in my advertising agency office anymore but 4 months ago I became a CEO. Everyday, I walk the aisles of Duane Read, Whole Foods, Babies 'R Us and Bloomies looking for the best deals and the best products to stock my home with. And now, I realize just ineffective advertisers and companies are at reaching me.

Paper towels, toilet paper, dishwasher detergent and cleaning sprays are the four things we use most in our apartment. And frankly, there isn't an ad out there that convinces me to buy one brand over another. I actually choose what I choose because my mother recomended it, my cleaning lady suggested it, or another friend said it saved her life. Yup, that's right, I get what I get because my fellow CEOs have delivered up rave reviews. Yup, my mom whose a woman, my cleaning lady whose a women and other friends who are also women.

My point is women need to get vocal and force businesses to talk to us for realsies if they want to push product in this economy. Give us truth! Find out where I itch and scratch it! I promise I will buy you if you seduce me right! It is downright patronizing to see most of the ads on daytime television. Most of the ads are like stupid one liners. You don't marry that guy. The guy that you end up marrying is the one who captures your heart and soul and becomes your best friend forever!

This commercial from the agency Saatchi & Saactchi from a couple of years ago for Pampers ALWAYS gets me to cry.  I love Pampers and am completely devoted to them. They're the only diaper I'll buy. Besides, they really are the best diaper out there.

And then there's this campaign by Johnson & Johnson.  

Tell me this isn't the complete truth:

Right now my top 5, can't live without drugstore products are:

-Clorox Green Works Natural Spray

-Bounty Paper Towels

-Cascade Dishwashing Detergent

-Charmin Ultra-Soft Toilet Paper

-Cetaphil Face Soap

What are yours? Should I try anything new?

Leave me a comment, don't be shy!

Little Big Boy...

I've decided that if Oliver is going to spit up on everything from himself to the kitchen sink, he should pitch in and help, especially with the laundry.

Yes, you are lookin' at darling, 4-month old chunker busting out of our laundry basket. 

Over the past couple weeks I've taken Oliver to a few neighborhood play groups and he's always been the youngest one there. I'm fine with him being the most immature in the group, but the thing that freaks me out is that he's seriously twice or three times the size babies who are months older than he is. 

The mothers look at me and ask me how old he is and their eyebrows fly right through their forehead when they hear how he's just 4 months. Their next question is always, how much does he eat? A lot. He's clearly from my side.

I read on babycenter.com that babies are supposed to double their birthweight by 4 months and triple their weight by the first year. But Oliver tripled his birth weight in only 4 months!

I'm thinking well shit! Its no wonder Oliver's first months were maniacal! He's been going through constant and consistent growth spurts.  Poor little big boy!

I'm thrilled to report the past two weeks he's been soooo much calmer and I'm assuming its because he's finally getting used to his own skin! He must be plateauing. 

At this rate, seeing as we're already in 6-12 month clothes, he's going to be the next Brian Urlacher! 

Why I hate Beyonce...

I live in Tribeca across the street from a government building.  They can fully see into my apartment and I can fully see into their offices. Only a couple times has this posed a problem since we're out of the apartment while they're at work, and by the time Brett or I come home, they've left for the day.

I know you really shouldn't put a baby in front of a tv, and well, I tried to keep him off it but Oliver like his mama, loves to watch the tube. Every morning, while I'd rather watch the Today Show, I put on VH1 so we have music in the apartment to play to. And well, that's when Beyonce happened.  

Have you seen her latest video for "All the Single Ladies?" She dances, no... she rips it up. And Oliver has an absolute shit fit every time that video comes on. He smiles, screams, laughs and kicks right along with the music.

Well, I was having so much fun watching Oliver kick and dance, I thought maybe if I knew some of the dance, I could make him laugh without the television on . So I rewound our DVR a few... 5... 6... or 9 times and tried to get me some of them Beyonce moves.  

I finally threw in the towel because really, who can move like her and even more so I wanted to shower. I turned around and that's when I saw 4 dickwads in the government building standing in an office window watching me, laughing their asses off.

MOTHER FUCKERS! 

The only thing I could do was flip them the double bird, grab Oliver and run into the other room.   

Fuck New York and fuck Beyonce. 

Potty mouth...

I can't... no wait...let me start over.

I won't... stop swearing.  

A "Gosh Darn It" when I accidentally drop my $200 hairdryer on the bathroom floor doesn't fit nearly as well as a "F-cking D-mmit all to H-ll."  

I actually like to swear. It lets me express the magnitude of how I feel. And sometimes my feelings are bigger than an "Ooooh shoot!"

Like yesterday, when a certain young man on the street couldn't be bothered to hold the door to Duane Reade for Oliver and me. He let the door slam into my stroller and woke Oliver up from his nap.  I felt a "Hey thanks, A$$-Hole!" was completely appropriate. 

Or, like last week when I was in the grocery store, and I asked the woman who was stocking the food where the Kosher Salt was. She replied with a snarky, "How the hell should I know." To me, only a f$cking whoresack could act like that to a customer.

I don't just use swearing for insults. I use them to express my feelings as well.

For example: Stub my toe = F-CK!!!!! Can you really just say oops?

I come from a long line of cussers.  My Mom, my Dad, hell even my Grandma swears with the best of them. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, like an 88 year old woman calling a taxi driver an A$$ Hole for aggressively taking a yellow light.

Brett has asked me tone this habit of mine down before Oliver starts to talk.  

I'll try. I want to be a d-mn good mother. I really do think it's important for me to model how a lady acts since eventually hopefully Oliver will find one to marry. 

But I know, and Brett knows, and you know, there's no changing a leopard or zebra's dots or whatever the f-ck they have.  

I'm gonna burn in h-ll.

Father time, Mother Nature, and whoever else is in charge of the weather...

Yesterday NYC had the most shitacious weather. 

 

It wasn't snowing.  

It wasn't raining. 

It was pissing slush.

All.

Day.

Long.

Even Oliver was annoyed. 

Here's his face to prove it. 

He's sick and tired of being bundled and unbundled.

And frankly, I'm sick of it too. 

Memo to Springtime: Get here fast, or Mama S'mores is moving to Hawaii.

Who do I think I am?

I am a city-living, dining out, beauty routine junkie who can't live without getting her mani/pedi's and brow waxes. I know the latest jeans to trot around town in (Denim Leggings), the juiciest lip glosses to frost your lips with (T. LeClerc) and the most amazing stiletto in town to sum it all up (Balenciaga Fishbone Slingbacks).  

The other day, Brett remarked how domesticated I have become.

Domesticated? Could he have hurled a bigger insult at me?

Fine, I haven't worked in a few months. So what if I have time to frequent the grocery store and clip some coupons. Cooking is a good thing and it saves so many calories. I can watch my carb vs protein intake and make sure I'm getting enough daily vitamins and minerals. So what if I see this as a healthy new obsession...my nails and hair will for sure prosper from what Brett calls "domesticated."

Okay, fine. I've decided I like the living room organized as to how I go about my day. I want the kitchen pots stacked properly and our bed made in the morning. I don't think it's bad to not want left over shaving cream bits or toothpaste in the sink. I want things put away. I had dinner ready as Brett walked in the door last night. Yup. I sure did. And, I have the whole weeks dinner menus already planned and prepped. I started a database of weeknight recipes so that Sunday grocery store runs are efficient as hell. Don't even get me started on how I do the laundry.

These are no small things. I'm not a natural housewife.  

I admit, there are days when I haven't been so graceful while working at my new gig, and sometimes, I've even been resentful that Brett gets to go to work in the morning. But I really have to give it up to my husband for sticking by me through this most unexpected time.  He's a champ like no other and goes above and beyond for Oliver and me on a daily basis.

Domesticated or whatever, I'm getting my hair highlighted this weekend. 

Old habits die hard.

Check your kids homework...

My friend Vinny sent this to me in an email yesterday.  I found it hillarious.

After the picture, there was a letter to the teacher from the Mommy.

Dear Mrs. Jones,

I wish to clarify that I am not, nor have I ever been, an exotic dancer. I work at Home Depot and I told my daughter how hectic it was last week before the blizzard hit. I told her we sold out every single shovel we had and then I found one more in the back room, and that several people were fighting over who would get it.  

Her picture doesn't show me dancing around a pole.  It is supposed to depict me selling the last snow shovel we had at Home Depot.

From now on, I will remember to check her homework more thoroughly before she turns it in. 

Sincerely, 

Mrs. Smith

My life has changed 002

For as long as I've been the special lady in Brett's life, I've wanted him to have fun and memorable birthdays. They were always very easy to plan. Brett loves looking and feeling dapper so I usually gifted him shirts from Barneys and goodies from Kiehls. A solid steak frites satisfies Brett's tummy like nothing else, and since there's no dearth of french bistros in NYC, dinner was always filled with possibility.

This year, well, things are a bit different.

Instead of waking up on his birthday weekend and lolly-gagging around the apartment until noon, we were up, just as we've been up every morning, at 6:45 am. At 7:30 we were getting spit up on and at 8:30 we had already done the laundry. By 12:30 we were getting spit up on again and at 2:30 we were at Barnes & Noble with the rest of Tribeca and their sticky kids. 4:00 came and we were home and showering, getting ready for our big date night out. 

At 5:45, 15 minutes before our babysitter got to our apartment we were showered, dressed and ready to rock. Our instructions were clear, written down, and within 3 minutes, we were out the door headed to the subway. No friends, no Oliver. Just us. Brett and me. Let's talk about us. Us, us, us. Let's flirt, steal a few kisses, be coy, and pretend like we're on a second date. Giggles, swooning, dreaming...yum.

For this to work however, the first step to success meant we had to get out of the neighborhood because I am so damn sick of Tribeca I could die. So, off to Brooklyn we went. We were at the restaurant by 6:45 and we hung out at the wine bar around the corner until they called us. Wine. Perfect. I love you.

After downing my volcanic, earthy, dry red in 10 minutes we sat there talking about how everything in our life has changed. Instead of giggles, swooning and dreaming we laughed at Oliver's most current habits: his meat-head like grunts when he wants our attention, his want to walk even though he can't even flip over yet, and how he furls his brow, just like his daddy, as if to say to the other babies, "What the f$ck man?"

We watched a couple flirt... they were clearly on their 2nd date.  Amateurs. 

It was 7:30 when our name was called and while ordering dinner, we realized most of our friends probably hadn't even showered yet- it was still too early for their night to begin. By 8:45 we were paying the check and all we wanted to do was get to the subway and crawl into bed. 

We were home by 9:15, a full 45 minutes before we were expected, but it was freezing outside and it's not like we could just walk around. A movie would end too late, and coffee was not an option. So we just cut it short and called it a night. 

As we entered our building three adorable girls in their late 20's passed us on their way out. They were coiffed, slicked and glossed, all ready to jump start their night. They were probably going to the newest restaurant in the West Village.  They had loads of perfume on and they were oh yeah, oh yeah, working it. Brett and I were in bed by 9:45.  

As Brett whispered thank you for the best birthday ever, I laughed and said, yes, it was a perfect Saturday.

I could spend everyday with my boys.

Things that make you go Hmm....

For those of you who don't know me personally, I am a passionate reader. 

Reading has always been something that I can always count on to clear my mind, teach me new things and hell, just relax. I collect books like lip glosses. I seriously believe you can never have enough of either. It's hard for me to replace my current favorites, but when I do, if you're a bestie of mine, you can be sure I'll be gifting you that book in the near future. I do the same thing with lip glosses.

Anyway, I stopped in Barnes & Noble with Oliver this afternoon and meandered my way toward the kids section. While I don't need another kids book (Oliver is only 4 months old) I firmly believe a child cannot have enough of Shel Silverstein, Leo Leoni, or Dr. Suess.

That's when I saw it. And my reaction was...Holy Hell...wtFFFF.

There were, no joke, 60 strollers in the middle of the store.  I was sure there was an event taking place so I kept walking to check it out.  

Now I know Tribeca is the new family central in NYC, but I was not ready for the 100 or so kids under the age of 3, running around like they were on sugar-coated crack.  They were tearing apart toys, teaching themselves to walk and emptying book after book off the shelf and eating them. 

Where was the supervision? 

In the corners, in the shelf aisles and all along the floor, as it was in high school, there were cliques of nannies socially organized by race and geographical location. 

First of all I noticed these nanny's are NOT focusing on watching the child they are being paid to care for. They are eating and gossiping and talking on their phones.  I know. I eves-dropped on like 7 of them.

Second, what about the store's poor employees! Can you imagine yourself having to clean up after this mob goes home? I asked an employee if this happens everyday and she sighed and said yes. Oh shit what a crappy job.

And finally, I left thinking that B&N could be the most unsanitary place in the world now that I know every book has been in the sticky mouthes and fingers of every babe in the neighborhood. Talk about a place to get sick.

So what are the options?  

Work and leave your new baby with a nanny? Or stay at home and give up a few years of your career life? 

It's a tough call, and I'm finding myself caught smack dab in the middle.

Keep it to yourself mama...

From the moment you share the news that you're pregnant it can feel like you're getting hazed.  Everyone suddenly feels the need to "initiate" you by telling you what you're in for and how you have no way of prepping for what you're body has told you is already on the way. 

For the first 5 months of my pregnancy everyone told me how small I was, that I was carrying so high, and that if I hadn't thrown up yet you can be sure I would at any moment. For the last 4 months, they flip-flopped and decided I was too big, carrying low and should prepare myself for an excruciating 30 hour delivery with no medication, sleepless nights, and never going out for dinner ever again.

A coworker expressed disbelief when I didn't have a pediatrician locked in at 30 weeks. Strangers at dinner shot me dirty looks when I had a sip of Brett's wine. And when I ordered vegetable sushi a waitress wanted to know "if I was sure?"  My doctor assured me the occasional indulgence would not deform my baby.

And, it didn't seem to stop after I gave birth.  My doorman told me Oliver should be wearing a hat at all times. My cleaning lady expressed her concern that "el bebe cry mucho." And the checkout woman at Food Emporium actually told me my diaper bag was inefficient. The final straw, however, was my pharmacist at the old Dwizzel Rizzel (Duane Reade for those of you who don't live in my apartment).  I had a question about the formula I was buying. Well, instead of answering me, she exclaimed:

"FORMULA!???? HOLY HELL! WHY AREN'T YOU BREAST FEEDING!  GASP!

I'm sorry, but I didn't realize I needed to include you in my most personal of decisions you stupid-ass slut! Yes. Breast is best. I've heard it a million times.  But frankly, some of us can't and some of us frankly don't want to. You don't see me going around gasping:

"YOU'RE BREAST FEEDING! COVER THAT SHIT UP!"

No. I would never do that. I think it's a beautiful thing to be able to do.  But as far as I'm concerned breast or bottle, stay-at-home or working, nanny or day care, co-sleep or crib sleep, epidural or natural, public or private school, cloth diapers or disposable, you decide what works for you. It's not my business to initiate you into the club of motherhood. You'll figure it out. Everyone does.  

Here's a story in the NYtimes by Lisa Belkin which spoke about this much better than I did:

http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/01/13/why-does-everyone-try-to-scare-new-parents/?emc=eta1

Let me know what you think.

We did it America!

I'd like to raise a glass (my mug of morning coffee) and toast today.  

Today, W. and his loser wife Laura leave D.C., and we WELCOME the Obamas.  

We welcome their inspiration, their message, their love, their ideas, their thoughtfulness, their common decency, their sparkle, their radiance, their candor. We welcome their civic responsibility.  Hell, we welcome their international responsibility. 

Congrats America.  We did it.

Sunday stroll around the neighborhood...

Yesterday, Brett went for a run.

He was gone for a long time... longer than his usual jaunt. Just when I was starting to worry about him he burst through the doors insisting I've GOT to go down to Greenwich Street. He said everybody in the neighborhood is there, the police, the fire department and every news van in the city. So, I threw Oliver into the stroller and walked the few short blocks. And there it was.

The US Airways Jet that landed in the Hudson was sitting there. Just 50 yards from me on the lawn where my husband and I relax in the summer and play Scrabble. The engine is ripped off and while it's very obvious the plane is not in the best shape it is definitely and impressively intact. It is a shocking sight. Especially when it's sitting in your neighborhood's backyard.

I hope Sully gets himself front row ticket to tomorrow's inauguration. If anyone deserves it more than Bono, it's definitely Pilot Sully.

Here's a picture of Oliver with the "Miracle Plane" behind him.

What'd you do this weekend?

If you live in NYC like me, I'm sure you had a fabulous weekend.  

Despite the weather being a bit on the freezing side, I have no doubt you got your hair blown out, wore your fave Intermix dress that barely covered your girl parts and trotted down to Butter or Marquis, or wherever the hell you go, to booze it up and dance the night away. I'm sure you got home to your warm bed around 6am this morning, slept in till 4pm, caught up on all that beauty sleep you so crave, and then woke up and did it all again on Saturday night.

Well I think you're a whore.

While you were getting your hair blown out I was letting my hair air dry into a mess of frizzy, untamed curls. My baby needed his pacifier because he chucked it somewhere in his crib. And, since he can't look for it himself, I had to get it for him, thus missing my opportunity to blow-dry.

When you were getting dressed into your adorable low cut dress and saddling into a fresh pair of Manolos, I was putting on my mommy sweats again and gym shoes so I could be ready for anything Oliver throws at me, literally.

When you were coming home at 6am relishing the adventure that you were on for the past 7 hours, I was waking up.  Yup, I was starting my day as I've started my day, every day for the past 3 months and 19 days: Getting shot in the eye with a healthy dose of pee by the lovely boy.

But you know what?  It's all good.  

Because while you were out slutting around town I got something this weekend that made everything all okay.  Yup.  I sure did.  And my husband and I used it over and over and over and over again...all weekend.  For HOURS at a time.    

You want to know what we did ALL WEEKEND LONG?  

2 words for you.

GUITAR HERO. Yup.  We played Guitar hero on our wii ALL WEEKEND LONG. And let me tell you how AWESOME this game is.  We played, no, we ROCKED OUT, non stop. I can't wait till tonight.  I have a feeling we're gonna play again.

Whose the whore now?

Mmmm mmmm Chicky!

Ina Garten is one of my favorite cooks out there.  Besides DVRing all of her episodes on Food Network, I have every single one of her cookbooks and they are all my favorites. The newest one that just hit bookstores, Barefoot Contessa, Back to Basics is every bit as good as her previous ones. 

Tonight I cooked up the Tuscan Lemon Chicken and the Maple-Roasted Butternut Squash. Both were overwhelming easy and yummy. What I especially love about her recipes is that, if you like to cook, you will probably have almost half of the ingredients already in your kitchen.  

Check out the recipe for the Tuscan Lemon Chicken as it's featured on her website!

Photo:  Quentin Bacon 

Those things...

For one reason or another there are so many things that I promised myself I would NEVER do. 

For example, I swore I'd NEVER call my doctor at his home.  My father is a physician and I have countless memories of his patients calling in the middle of him reading a bedtime story to me.  I was pissed.  This was my daddy.  And this was my daddy time.  I even got mad at him for taking the calls.  He spends all day with his patients.  When he gets home, he should be on my clock. Me. Me. Me.

Well yesterday, low and behold, I got the flu.  My head, nose, stomach, legs and body felt like they were collapsing in on themselves and I broke down and called my doctor...at home. 

I did it. He gave me his home number years ago and I put it away vowing to never use it.  

But yesterday, I used it.  After I got the medicine I needed to provide me with some much needed relief I got a startling new perspective on my father.  

Thank God for him. 

Thank God patients felt comfortable enough to call him.  

Thank God he was willing to take their calls at 8pm, midnight and 4am.  

I don't know too many doctors willing to give their numbers to patients, but for the ones that do, I say it's more than okay to call if you really need to.  They wouldn't have offered it if they didn't mean it.  

Nowadays when you go to the doctor it's truly a freak show.  After waiting at least 45 minutes to see the doctor, you get 10 minutes of face time.  There's no time for Q&A.  And it's not like anyone follows up with you. They come in the room, check your chart, grab your wrist and take your pulse, jot down a few notes and leave. Their justification is they have so many patients to see in such small amount of time.  

Well I'm sorry, but when you go into a room of a sick patient, pull up a goddam chair.  

You think that person waiting for your attention is there because they want to hang out?  No, they're there because they feel like shit.  They are vulnerable and in pain.  They need to be walked through, in terms my baby can understand, exactly what you are going to do them and how its going to make them feel better. Period.  

So if you are lucky enough to find a doctor, who is willing to give you his home number in case you have a question you forgot to ask or are feeling kind of sick, dial those digits.  That doctor of yours cares about you.

The same way my father cared about his patients.

After my dad hung up the phone with his patient, we ALWAYS finished the bedtime story.

 

Jaded...

This is a snippet of my conservation tonight with Brett:

Brett:  It's so weird to think a plane crashed less than a mile away from our apartment this afternoon.

Alexis: Eh...

Brett:  Eh?  Really?  You don't think it's odd the plane is sitting in the water literally less than a mile away from where we are sitting right now, at this very moment?

Alexis:  Eh...

Brett:  EH????

Alexis:  This is New York.  Nothing surprises me anymore.

Truth be told, I'm thrilled and elated everyone is okay. It's because they are all okay that I can say "eh." 

If there were major fatalities a mile away from me then yes, you better believe I'd be plenty upset.  But there are not.  The pilot was the definition of perfection.  He should be bestowed the biggest honor a person can get and set an example for all of us to our jobs with such grace under pressure.  

All time fave 001...

Since over 75 million people have watched this, I know this is nothing new.  But Charlie makes me laugh hysterically every time I see this:

Hell hath no fury...

...like a Mama scorned.

If it's pouring outside, hailing even, and a new Mama drags her baby to the pediatrician's office for his first set of shots, a moment she's been dreading for weeks now, and a bitchy 21-year-old receptionist, who hates kids, tells the Mama that the appointment was for 10:30am not 11:30am and that she's shit out of luck, and so the Mama demands to speak with the doctor because surely the Doctor will show some understanding, but the Doctor says she can't bend her schedule because she has a lunch date with her new boyfriend, and the Mama's standing there soaking wet feeling like an idiot, and looks at her baby and sees him starting to turn beet red because he's pooping, and the bitchy 21-year-old receptionist tells her the next available appointment is in a month and a half, and her baby starts to cry because there's poop in his diaper, and she can't hear the bitchy receptionist because his screams are getting louder and louder, and she's soaking wet because it's pouring outside, hailing even, and she's so pissed because what kind of pediatricians office isn't flexible or understanding, and her poor baby is sitting in poo, and the Doctor just grabbed her purse, reapplied her lipstick and walked out the door, and the bitchy 21-year-old receptionist throws on her pink coat, grabs her leopard purse and starts heading out the door for lunch too.

Suddenly it comes to the Mama.

Her baby shat himself!

The new Mama asks the bitchy 21-year-old receptionist to hold off closing the office for a moment while she changes her baby before heading home in the rain and hail, and bitchy 21-year-old receptionist impatiently says okay but tells her to "make it fast," so the Mama takes care to walk extra slowly down the hall, find the bathroom, change her precious little boy's diaper, bundle him back up, say bye bye to the bitchy 21-year-old receptionist, and walk home happy and contented, because the Mama is imagining when the doctor and the bitchy 21-year-old receptionist get back from their hour and a half long lunch break, and have to pee, they will be greeted by a disgusting pile of used wipes and dirty diaper left on the counter that's been sitting there since they left, because the Mama wanted to show her appreciation for all their patience and understanding.

Mama's going to a a new pediatrician.